Health and Safety
by Snowballjane
Summary: When two of the armoury crew are hurt, Lt Reed gets angry. PG for swearing. Replaced with beta-ed version


Health and Safety By Jane.  
  
Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise s the property of Paramount. Witt and Truman are mine - but anyone's welcome to borrow them.  
  
Reviews ,feedback etc: to snowballjane@yahoo.co.uk  
  
A big thank you: to Taryn Eve for beta'ing and disentangling the POVs  
  
Notes: Witt's a German name so pronounced Vitt, like the famous ice skater.  
  
I hope no-one thinks this is inappropriate bumping. H&S was my first story and was posted here before I discovered Taryn. This version (the version archived at www,luminosityent.com) really is much better. I should have updated here it weeks ago.  
  
Spoilers for Vox Sola and Silent Enemy.  
  
___________  
  
"Excuse me sir."  
  
Malcolm Reed looked up from the panel he was tinkering with and found two crewmen facing him, their eyes filled with excitement.  
  
"What's today's big idea then?" he said, smiling tolerantly at crewmen Andrew Truman and Anke Witt. There was more than a foot height difference between the slightly gangly young man and the petite woman with short boyishly cut blonde hair. It was about the tenth time this month they had approached him looking like the cats who had got the cream. After helping out in the Armoury chief's creation of the stable forcefield they had clearly got the inventing bug.  
  
"Erm, we've got a few modifications to the targeting scanners sir, it looks like we could improve accuracy by about 8 percent," said Witt, hesitantly. After their last few ideas had failed to work out the pair were a bit less confident than they had been.  
  
"Let's have a look then," said Reed, grinning and holding out his hand for the PADD Truman was clutching. He looked at their calculations and whistled. "This looks like good work," he said. "Let me have a closer look."  
  
Thirty minutes later Reed called Witt and Truman back over to where he had been studying the contents of the PADD. "I think eight percent may be a bit optimistic," he said, watching their faces fall. "But I'd be chuffed with four or five. Come on we can't try modelling this from here. Let's go to engineering and give it a whirl."  
  
The two crewmen high-fived each other and followed Malcolm out of the armoury.  
  
*  
  
"Commander! Ok if we borrow a couple of consoles in here to run through some modifications to the targeting scanners?" Malcolm shouted across the cavernous space of main engineering to where Trip Tucker appeared to be totally engrossed in running a scanner over the warp core.  
  
"Sure thing," called back Trip without taking his eyes off the readings from warp core. "There's a couple spare down in the far corner."  
  
Truman and Witt rushed across to the spare consoles with their PADDs keen to download the new settings and see if their idea would work. Reed followed more slowly, smiling to himself at the pair's infectious enthusiasm.  
  
As Truman touched his console, there was a crackling sound and he was enveloped by a blue light. He was lifted off his feet and shaken violently. The young man's perpetual smile was forced into a rictus grin. Witt leaped to grab him and pull him away from the sparking console. For an instant she too was caught in the blue light, before the pair collapsed to the floor. The light vanished, but Truman continued to writhe on the floor. Witt lay still, her arm thrown over Truman's chest.  
  
It was all over in an instant. A second later Malcolm was by their side. Witt's eyes were wide open. "Witt, damn it, can you hear me?" he called frantically. She didn't respond.  
  
Truman appeared to be in a full-blown convulsive fit. The young man's face, so bright with excitement just a minute ago was now contorted with what looked like a mixture of pain and terror.  
  
Trip grabbed the nearest comm port and in a voice tight with shock yelled: "Dr Phlox, we need you in main engineering. Now."  
  
*  
  
Malcolm paced back and forth, his anxious stride taking him across sickbay in about four steps. Phlox and Cutler would occasionally look up from their two patients to ask him to sit down. But mostly they just looked anxiously at the readings above the two bio-beds and murmured to each other about possible medical interventions.  
  
Truman was at last lying still. For the past 20 minutes, since they had arrived in sickbay, he had been wracked with judders, shaking silently as the doctor tried hypospray after hyprospray.  
  
"Doctor, will they be ok?" Reed finally cracked and asked.  
  
"I'm afraid I simply don't know," said Phlox, his normally cheerful countenance filled with concern as he turned to the pair's senior officer. "The human brain is a remarkable organ, but it does lack resilience to electrical interference. I'm afraid there may be nothing I can do. We'll just have to wait and see."  
  
Witt was lying silent on the next bio-bed. Her face was pale and rigid. She blinked occasionally but her wide-open grey eyes seemed blank and unseeing.  
  
"It's the strangest case of neural shock I've ever seen," said Cutler looking across at her. "She seems to be semi-conscious but her brainwave readings are all over the shop."  
  
Reed looked at the pair of them lying there. So young, so keen. The PADD containing their brilliant idea was still clutched in his hand. There was nothing he could do to help them. And they might never recover consciousness.  
  
Suddenly Truman began to shake again.  
  
*  
  
Malcolm walked into the mess hall an hour later having been finally shooed away by Phlox. He didn't think he could eat. His stomach was knotted up tight. He'd just wandered there on autopilot. Walking into a room full of normal activity he felt strangely lost. How could all these people behave so normally. He caught sight of Trip Tucker 100 percent focussed on selecting a dessert from the cabinet. Something inside him snapped.  
  
He marched across the room and grabbed the Commander by the scruff of the neck. "God damn you, how can you eat pecan pie at a time like this? It's your bloody fault, you know. You sent them to that fucking unsafe console."  
  
Before he even realised what he was doing he drew back his fist and laid one massive punch to Trip's face. Then the pair of them were grappling. Everyone in the mess hall turned to stare, a handful of people moved to try to separate the two men. Somehow a pie got mixed up in the fight.  
  
"What the hell?" yelled Archer as he stepped into the mess hall. Like the moment in a cowboy film when the stranger steps into the saloon, the entire room went silent.  
  
*  
  
"Gentlemen," started Archer. The captain felt torn. His clear duty was to give the two men in front of him the dressing down of their lives. They deserved it. For pity's sake, they should both know better. But they both looked so miserable. Malcolm was staring at his feet, refusing to meet his eye. Archer was pretty sure the armoury officer had no idea he had pie in his hair. The thought threatened to make him laugh despite his fury. He restrained the urge.  
  
Trip hadn't yet been to sickbay and had a glorious black eye developing. Archer frowned. He had two crewmembers seriously ill in sickbay. The last thing he needed was to have to punish two of his senior staff. It was bad for everyone's morale.  
  
"I do not expect senior officers on this ship to behave like schoolboys. I'm deeply disappointed in you both. Fighting. Especially in front of the rest of the crew."  
  
"Sorry sir," muttered Trip, a little huffily but without a trace of bitterness.  
  
"Mr Tucker, since you didn't start the fight I'll just withdraw privileges."  
  
"Yes sir," Trip said, looking downcast. Archer felt some relief. Tucker understood that sometimes their friendship would be stretched by the burdens of command.  
  
"Mr Reed, look at me when I'm talking to you."  
  
Malcolm's head shot up. Archer was surprised by the defiance in the man's gaze.  
  
"Mr Reed. Your behaviour was a disgrace to the Starfleet uniform. I appreciate the extenuating circumstances and we're all concerned for crewmen Witt and Truman. But you struck a superior officer in anger. I'm afraid it will have to go down on your record. You will also be confined to quarters for the next week."  
  
"Aye, sir." No apology, Archer noted. Frankly, he was worried about Reed. That look of angry defiance when being disciplined, that was somehow wrong. He'd struggled to get to know Malcolm, had resorted to giving Ensign Sato a mission to find out the man's favourite food. Now he might retreat even further into his shell. But there wasn't another choice. He'd hit a fellow officer.  
  
*  
  
Malcolm still couldn't look at Trip. He was still furious with the man, mentally picturing the two comatose members of the armoury team in sickbay. But at the same time awareness was creeping over him that he had just lost one of the few real friends he had made on Enterprise - hell, had ever made.  
  
The thought made tears prick at his hot angry eyes and he blinked. He was determined not to show his emotion or to look like he was bawling over the telling off. 'Reed men don't cry.' It had always made his father even angrier if he'd shown that being yelled at hurt his feelings.  
  
"Dismissed, gentlemen."  
  
As they walked out of Archer's ready room Malcolm steadfastly ignored whatever it was Trip was trying to say to him. He walked briskly to his quarters, wishing for a brief instant that it were possible to slam the door behind him.  
  
He curled up in a tight ball on his bunk hugging his knees. He'd disappointed the captain, tarnished his record, lost a friend and now he was letting his crewmembers down by not being able to be in sickbay for them.  
  
Why? He thought. Why couldn't I have apologised. He had wanted too - desperately, but somehow when standing in front of Captain Archer he'd choked on the words, ended up just staring at the captain. How could he ever face Archer again?  
  
For a full minute his poor defenceless pillow bore the brunt of his anger and hurt. When it was finally clear the pillow wasn't going to fight back he collapsed with a sigh.  
  
Then he picked up the PADD containing Witt and Truman's targeting calculations and started to work on some sums. He was still lost in mathematics some three hours later when the door panel suddenly chirruped to announce the arrival of a visitor.  
  
"Come in," he called out. He looked up from the PADD to see Trip Tucker entering the cabin. Thanks to all the staring at his boots earlier it was the first time he'd seen the damage he'd done to the Commander's face. A huge black and inky purple bruise had half closed one of Trip's twinkly eyes. Malcolm gasped, then bit his lip.  
  
"Commander." he started.  
  
"Wait up Malcolm," cut in Trip as the door swished shut behind him. "I've got a huge apology to make. Y'see, I've been down in engineering these past three hours trying to work out just how that console had gotten so charged, and I found something kind of disturbing. We--. No - I-- well three safety scans of engineering had been skipped. That fault coulda been there two days ago, coulda been fixed without doin' any harm to anyone."  
  
"Oh," said Malcolm, astonished by the admission.  
  
"I'd got this bright idea. Y'know when you wake up in the middle a' the night and think - yeah I could get Enterprise to warp 5.5? Well it was one a' them. And I'd gotten so obsessed I'd forgotten to run the scans."  
  
Trip was still standing just inside the door. He seemed to be closely studying the wall behind and to the left of Malcolm's head while speaking. He certainly wasn't making eye-contact.  
  
Reed looked closer at his colleague. He'd been distracted by the bruise and had failed to notice how ashen-faced Trip was. "Accidents happen Commander. The fault could have just appeared, you don't know you missed it."  
  
Trip stayed silent, visibly shifting his weight from foot to foot.  
  
"That's one heck of a black eye, sir. I'm sure Dr Phlox could do something for it."  
  
"Nah, I deserved it," said Trip, finally looking directly at Malcolm. "And it's good to know our head of security can pack that kind of a punch. Anyway Phlox is pretty busy right now." He looked guiltier than ever at the thought of Phlox's patients.  
  
The last of Malcolm's anger ebbed away. "So, warp 5.5 eh? Care to show me those calculations?"  
  
"Well, it's not exactly there yet, but.." He handed over a PADD. "Can I have a look-see what you're workin' on?"  
  
The two were soon sitting side by side on Malcolm's bunk, pointing out possible improvements to the two big ideas.  
  
An hour later was another chirrup from the door panel.  
  
Hoshi and Travis poked their heads around the door. Both looked a little puzzled to see Commander Tucker present but then they grinned broadly.  
  
"Good news sirs. We've just been by sickbay and Dr Phlox says they're both going to be fine," said Travis.  
  
"In fact, Witt's already awake - although she's not been told yet why she's not allowed to tell Mr Reed about her latest idea for safety cut outs in main engineering," piped in Hoshi. "And Dr Phlox says they'll both make a full recovery."  
  
Malcolm felt like he had let out a breath he'd been holding for the past six hours. "Thanks," he said, but it came out as a barely disguised sob. He lifted a shaky hand to his face to wipe away the tear, which had run down his cheek.  
  
Trip patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Malcolm bowed his head for a moment while he took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure.  
  
"So, what's this, a study party?" Travis asked, trying to break the over- charged moment.  
  
"Yeah, it seems being confined to quarters does wonders for creativity," drawled Trip.  
  
"Squeeze up then," said Hoshi. The two ensigns bounced onto the bunk and Malcolm laughed as his bed sagged under the weight of four officers. There he'd been worrying about losing friends and now his cabin was completely overcrowded with fellow officers, scrambling to have a look at the ideas on the PADDs.  
  
_____________  
  
"Ahem."  
  
Four pairs of eyes turned towards the open doorway.  
  
Captain Archer looked sternly back at them.  
  
"I'm fairly sure there's a Starfleet regulation someplace that says officers 'confined to quarters' aren't supposed to hold parties in their cabins," he said frowning, while suppressing the urge to laugh at their expressions.  
  
They leapt to their feet, giving the bedsprings a well-deserved rest. "Sorry sir." "Sorry captain." "Sorry sir, we were just." "Sorry sir, they just dropped by to let me know Witt and Truman were ok."  
  
"At ease everyone," said Archer, feeling enormous relief wash over him. This was his crew. Supporting each other. Forgiving each other. Looking after each other far out here on the final frontier.  
  
"Room for another one on that bunk?" he asked. "Anyone got any drinks to toast the recovery of two inventive armoury staff?"  
  
THE END 


End file.
